


An Intermediate's Guide to Living with Even Bech Næsheim

by riyku



Series: Skam Sunday [13]
Category: SKAM (TV)
Genre: Ableist Language, Bipolar Disorder, M/M, Mental Health Issues, POV Second Person, true fucking love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-03
Updated: 2017-09-03
Packaged: 2018-12-23 13:24:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11990715
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/riyku/pseuds/riyku
Summary: Or, how to live with the love of your life in five easy to follow steps. (Again.)





	An Intermediate's Guide to Living with Even Bech Næsheim

**Author's Note:**

> happy sunday! the democratic process is to blame for this one. 
> 
> this is a companion to [A Beginner's Guide to Living with Isak Valtersen](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11169966), just, y'know, the other way around.
> 
> hope you enjoy!

**Rule 5** : Learn to speak Even's language. He will talk in code, in movie quotes and camera angles. It will mystify you when he picks up a thread from a film you watched or a conversation you had last week. Your mind works in straight lines and his is like a spider web, its intersections more complex the closer you get to the center. And at first you will be lost, feeling out of context, half a step out of sync with him while the two of you are wandering through the aisles in the grocery store, where you will have been mundanely arguing the relative merits of jarred tomato sauce only moments ago. He will pause, eyebrows raised, and bury his nose in your hair when you make the connection and mutter something about Butch and Sundance, then hand him the jar that has Paul Newman's face on the label, ending the debate.

You will come home to find him making a list of things he wishes he could be, drawing it out in careful capital letters, sorted by order of importance. Stable and reliable will be at the top of that list. You understand instability. You were raised in it by a scripture-spouting mother whose reality looks entirely different from yours, and a father whose love shows up in your bank account in predictable intervals, but you won't tell him any of this. He will already know without you having to say it. Instead you will sit across from him with your own piece of paper, your arm blocking his view as you counter his list with one of your own, made up of things that you like best about him. You will flip it over and continue on the back, fill up both sides while Even wraps his hand around your wrist, jittery and impatient to see. When you finally show him, his laugh will be quiet and his grin huge and he will ball it up and throw it at you, nearly topple the chair over in his rush to stand. He will tip your head up with two fingers under your chin and kiss you sweetly breathless.

Two days later, you will find it tacked to your wall where his _Melancholia_ poster used to be, all the wrinkles smoothed out. You will touch it, trace his name where you've written it over and over in your cramped, rushed handwriting.

 

 **Rule 4** : Accept everything he offers you. After school, you will walk outside, hood up and headphones on to create a barrier between you and the party girls who want you to be their adorable gay best friend and you will glance up to find him waiting. He will still be in his rumpled work clothes and there will be coffee grounds under his fingernails and stains on his shirt. His hug will be tight and his body will feel like heaven against yours and he will wait and allow you to kiss him first. The low thrum of tension and worry you carry with you whenever he's out of your sight will disappear. He will pull something from his pocket, wrapped in brown paper, made out of chocolate and with his own two hands. He will look at you, expectant as you chew, his face filled to overflowing with a sort of fragile hope and you will lick his fingers clean and ask him if you can have another. 

There will be secrets he shares and others he keeps inside. At night you will curl yourself around him and listen to him tell stories of things he doesn't want to forget, hint at things he doesn't want to remember. He has scars you know nothing about, some you can touch and others you can't. There were boys and girls and obsessions best left buried. Your throat will burn, you will tangle your legs with his and slide your hand into his hair and realize that it's one part comfort and one part selfish possession. He will tell you that he's been in love, but never like this. He will tell you that before, he'd seen the world in burned out sepia tones. That it had been smoke stained and ash covered, full of faded photographs and sun bleached book covers left too long on shelves, and it had been like that until the very first time you kissed him back, when everything suddenly snapped into radiating, vibrant color.

Remember that you weren't his beginning. Know that you will be his middle and end. 

 

 **Rule 3** : Don't try to understand the whole of him, and don't try to understand yourself when you're with him. There are things that biochemistry cannot explain, like the way your body will react every time you look at him, the subtle way your bones will rearrange themselves and the way you shiver every time his fingertips light on your neck. Or how the deep purr of his voice can sometimes make you run so hot and other times it will lullaby you right to sleep. How a room will feel different, just for him being in it. He will be the first thing you think about when you wake up, and your last thought before you go to sleep. He will be what you reach for before you open your eyes in the morning, and his mouth will be the first thing you taste.

 

 **Rule 2** : Redefine what it means to love someone. You will panic when he makes a nonsensical comment, wondering if it's happening again, and you will worry if he sleeps later than you two mornings in a row. There will be days when Even will only eat red food, but it will pass. There will be other days when he has to watch the same forty seconds of a film on a continuous loop, or days when his silence will be so heavy you will irrationally almost, _almost_ wish the mania would come back, just to fill it, and that will pass, too. It will get worse, and it will get better. You will count pills. You will also count the moles on his jaw and the number of times he kisses your fingertips and your palm before he's convinced he's gotten it right. You will keep him warm, and cover him with your body when the blankets don't reach quite far enough.

You will learn to define love as the simple comfort of Even's cold feet burrowed under your shirt, pressed into your side while you sit quietly together, neither of you thinking to turn on a light as the sun sets outside your window and the room gradually darkens. It will paint his face in a warm, vital glow and make his eyes seem that much more blue. And you will learn that it's not always dramatic confessions, balconies and white Tesla's and last minute saves. Much of the time it will be dirty dishes and drier sheets and cold leftovers that you will have gotten sick of two days ago. Most of the time it will be his hand, reaching out to hold yours.

 

 **Rule 1** : Loving him will be the easiest thing you will ever do. You will find your home in the weight of his arm around your shoulders, in the space he makes for you between his sprawled legs and in the warmth of his mouth on the back of your neck. You will compare every single thing to the pure sound of his laughter and discover that nothing will ever match up. He will be your fear when you can't make him better, and his pain will crack your ribs open and drill into your lungs. He will be the heartbeat you press your palm against. There will be long nights that crash into insomniac mornings. There will be the happiness you feel when you finally see him smile again, and there will be joy. There will be love, and love and so much love. 

 

\--end

thanks for reading!


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